Amen omen
by Melody Of Joy
Summary: Your weak knees falling. From this moment, you knew you wouldn't ever need Dementors to make you understand you'd never be happy again. The thought of never hearing him laugh again was enough. James...


I like heart-wrenching angsty stories and above all, I love the greatest character ever written : my baby Sirius Black. So I know I'm not J.K Rowling you'll guess it soon enough but I'd really like you to read this short one shot and tell me what you thought. Of course, I earn nothing for this piece of writing that would be an insult to real writers ! I hope you'll enjoy.

P.S : The lyrics are from the song _Amen Omen_ by Ben Harper aka the most depressing and beautiful song ever. I thought it was perfect to describe the bromance between Prongs & Padfoot.

P.P.S : I'm French so I'm very sorry if there are grammar mistakes. I did my best. Feel free to tell me if you see something really horrible. I'm also a grammar nazi in my own language so I know how this feels.

P.P.S : I'd really love to know what you felt reading this so I'll try with the usual lie : If you review, you'll have cookies ? :D

Seriously, you'd make my whole year :D

You're cold, hungry, thirsty, empty, desperate.

Sometimes your heart seems to have ceased to beat. You feel nothing, not anymore, you're such an insignificant mass of bones. You listen to the heart-rending screams all around you and wonder if one day, yesterday, in another life, in a life you cannot even imagine anymore(_was it a dream ? Have you ever lived, laughed, loved ?_), you would have felt something at these sounds. Empathy ? Maybe. A need to save them ? You believe the Sirius of yesterday would have done anything to save them. Not anymore. Now you just patiently wait until they stop. You only wonder why they're still screaming. Don't they know ? Don't they know everything is over ? That there is nothing left to do, that the sky fell upon your heads and that any form of human species has disappeared ? Don't they know there is nothing left to save, nothing left to hope because _they_ are gone ? You're tired of hearing them screaming. They don't seem to want to stop. And you're tired of explaining this to them over and over again. Those ones will die soon, you think. Those ones can die. Not you. Your conscience won't let you.

_**« What started as a scream Slowly turned to a whisper »**_

They're calling for their father, their brother, their sister, their girlfriend. Their mother. In the eternal night of Azkaban, the bravest of men, the very one who once said he never needed anybody, ends up screaming. He's becoming a boy, once again, terrified by the monsters in his room and holding his mother's hand who will never ever let him go. Bullshit. He's calling for his mother in all the languages. Languages of desperation, composed by sobs, screams and pantings. First, by screaming to death then more and more softer. Their voice disappear in the night. Slowly. Then one day nothing. Their mother never answered. Their mother never heard.

You don't call for your mother. The picture of your mother, loving and attentive, has disappeared of your memories since long, very long years. The picture of Walburga, with eyes rolled upwards, of a mad and violent Walburga, accusing his own son of being "an abomination, a blood-traitor, a Mugglelover"she wished she had never given birth to before spitting at your feet and brandishing her wand towards her own flesh and blood has replaced the ephemeral picture of a respectable woman, or as they say a "normal" mother. You also know your real mother, Jane Potter, is dead and buried. You remember. You're still sane. You wish you weren't though. You wish you could scream Mrs Potter like your unfortunate monstrous comrades. You wish you would die. Finally. But you're innocent. You're still conscious. And that's your tragedy.

A cavernous rale which slowly comes closer. You tremble. Your heart finally starts to wake up. Starts to remind you with each and every rapid beat that you're alive. So many memories pass through your head. Flashes. You remember...

Every time you felt the pain caused by an Unforgivable. _The_ time when this spell originated from the wand belonging to the one who's the cause of your second surname. Orion.

_**« I don't know where you came from  
>And I don't know where you've gone.<br>Old friends become old strangers  
>Between the darkness and the dawn. "<strong>_

Pieces of flesh from the body of Gideon and Fabian, your two war comrades, inseparable brothers in their early thirties(_so young, so young just like you_) who died together after having been tortured by your _dear little brother_, Regulus. Your goddamned brother and the memory of what you felt after they announced you he was dead, in such a stupid and expected way. You didn't want to feel pain. You refused to mourn a Deatheater. But damn, it _hurt._

What once used to be a house. A flame-haired woman, forever still. An angelic face, always wearing a smile, but now eternally stuck in a horrified and frightened expression, protecting a partially destroyed and unstable cradle. _Lily..._

_**« I put I put your world  
>Into my veins<br>Now a voiceless sympathy  
><strong>__**Is all that remains."**_

A pale, so very pale visage. Hazel eyes ,empty and staring towards a skeletal snake, rising in the sky .The Dark Mark_(your worst nightmare finally coming to life)_. A lifeless body bathed in green light. Your weak knees falling. From this moment, you knew you wouldn't ever need Dementors to make you understand you'd never be happy again. The thought of never hearing him laugh again was enough. _James..._

Your brother, no matter what they say. They say you killed him in cold blood, they say you betrayed him. While you would have given your life over and over again to spare him. Instead, you unknowingly condemned him to death. You gave him up to the enemy's hands. Voldemort brandished the wand, Peter revealed the secret and you orchestrated the murder. They say you were the operation's brains. You can only bitterly approve.

What you wish for is not liberty. You , Sirius Black, the eternal rebel with the motorbike, the big black boots and the jacket, don't want to be free anymore if this means you'll have to live in a world he's not part of. You only desire for the rat, for this disgusting two-faced traitor, to rot away in the neighboring cell. You only want him to be far, far away from Harry even if you won't be able to see, to love the boy because _you're as guilty as Peter._

You don't scream for your mother. You transform into your Animagus form(_it took you several months to remember you could transform into a dog. Because it was a happy memory and you couldn't deal with that_).And an wounded dog's moan joins the discordant concert of screams and sobs which fill the deathly silence of Azkaban.

You killed your own brother. You're guilty. They can let you rot in this hell. You completely agree that you deserve every minute of it.

_**« Amen Omen can I see your face again? Amen Omen, can I find the place within To live my life without you?"**_

You scream for nobody. Nobody will come and fetch you. If Prongs doesn't come, nobody will. As a dog, that's how you think. You forget for a moment you lost them forever. The pain will be even stronger when you will transform back.

_**« But I live,  
>I live a hundred lifetimes in a day.<br>But I die a little  
>In every breath that I take."<strong>_

Then, the infernal cycle of desperation will start again.

You're cold, hungry, thirsty, you're empty, desperate. As every day, every minute, every agonizingly long second of the rest of your eternity.


End file.
